blossoms in the dead of winter bloom
by daggers.silver
Summary: By all rights, it should have been a normal day. Better than normal, actually. A good day for late November, sun shining, life getting relatively back to normal. Until Jasson Blossom waltzes into school on a Monday morning, equipped with a familiar cocky grin and looking a lot less dead than he should be.


**A/N: so. I've got another story idea. I know, I know, not good, but I couldn't help myself. As you all know, I write slow if not at all, so don't get your hopes too high, but Riverdale is a recent obsession (tho a bit of a let-down) and it's now on hiatus, so maybe I'll work on this while I wait for season two lol.**

 **AU (everything in canon has basically still happened, except Bughead and the finale. Cheryl's dad is still alive, and Archie's is fine, etc, but a few major things have been tweaked to fit with my story, as you will find out)**

 **General spoilers for characters and family situations, but not much for plot.**

 **Rate T for language, and later chapters (please reading warnings before chapters if they're there)**

 **Disclaimer: Riverdale isn't mine, or it'd look a lot different oops.**

 **Lyrics from Delta Rae - I Will Never Die**

000

 _Old heat of a raging fire_  
 _Come and light my eyes_  
 _Summer's kiss thru electric wire_  
 _But I'll never die_

000

By all rights, it should have been a normal day. Better than normal, actually.

For once, the gray blanket of clouds that haunted Riverdale broke into individual pieces of cotton, shattered chunks of marshmallow to swim across the blue, sun rising in a ripple of orange and pinks to peek out from behind them. A crisp wind blew to remind of the time of year even as the sun warmed their shivering backs. Heavy jackets are traded in for long sleeves, snow boots for street shoes, left by the front door with their other wintry wear.

A good day for late November.

As teenagers prepare for another day of school, adults ready themselves for work, among them a certain red-head and his father, and their until-further-notice resident slash friendly neighborhood delinquent known as Jughead Jones.

He wakes with his infamous cap still on his head and a foot digging in his side. With a groan of displeasure, he peaks out from under his comforter to scowl at the perpetrator.

"We slept in, Jug, time to get up," Archie's sleep-strained voice mumbles from above, followed by the sounds of clothes rustling on skin. "We're already late."

After taking one more deep inhale of warmth and unconsciousness, Jughead reluctantly creaks to his feet, shuffling around the room mindlessly as his mind struggles to clear. A pause to gain his bearings, and he squints at Archie, who's already dressed although ruffled and waiting by the door. Jughead glances down at his own attire to compare. A gray tee and plaid green pajama bottoms, wrinkled from being stretched and pulled by sleep.

He sighs. "You don't think I'll get away with just wearing this to school, do you?"

A grin cracks over Archie's face as he taps the door-frame absently, eyebrows ticking up while his gaze scans Jughead's frame. "You'd be lucky if you got away with leaving the _house_ looking like that. My dad's got eyes like a hawk." To emphasize his words, he points two fingers at his own eyes, then swivels them to Jughead, who shows his discontentment by flopping back onto Arch's bed and covering his eyelids with his forearm. The ginger laughs, taking a step into the hall. "Come on; I smell breakfast."

He ends up with yet another blank t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, signature hat still in place and his black button-up jacket on his back as he makes his way into the kitchen to the smell of eggs and toast. Archie's already polishing a plate while Fred bids him good morning and slides a full plate over to him.

"It's still hot, but you better hurry," he warns, glancing at the clock.

"I'll just eat it on the way," he replies, exchanging a nod with Archie as he stands from his seat. "Thank you, Mr. Andrews." He grabs his food and they both retreat for the door, an 'I told you, Jug, call me Fred' licking at his heels, and he waves a lazy hand behind him as acknowledgment.

The frosted morning air threatens to chill his food, but he devours it quickly, making sure there are no crumbs left when he slides the plate into his bag.

Archie lets him listen to a snippet of a new song on the way, and it's quiet and gentle and calming, as always, and he says as much, though it might have come out as 'it makes me wanna fall asleep, it's good' instead of something articulate, in-depth or even nice. But Archie laughs and swipes his phone back, shaking his head, so Jughead doesn't apologize.

Betty, Veronica and Kevin are waiting for them by the doors when they finally arrive, chatting quietly, most likely gossiping about family drama or something (though, who is he to talk?). Betty spots them first, brightening and prodding the others to notice. A maroon smile from Veronica and a friendly wave from Kevin, then they file inside, dodging the hoards of students milling like bees by the lockers and sticking to the corners of the hallway to avoid them.

Cheryl notices their presence immediately and makes a bee(ha)line through the crowd, parting them like water, her dark eyes pinned on Veronica as a predator to prey.

"Uh, incoming, eleven o' clock," Kevin pipes, sidestepping behind Betty and peeking from behind her pony-tail. But Cheryl's already _right there,_ prancing her last few steps and coming to stand eye-to-eye with the raven-haired girl of their group.

" _You,_ " she begins, lips upturned but eyes intense as per usual. "are going to help me organize my Christmas celebration."

Veronica starts, eyebrows furrowing, blinking in confusion, and Betty takes a microscopic step forward. "Christmas? Thanksgiving was literally last _week._ "

The dark eyes turn on Betty, dull. "I'm aware. But unlike you stooges, I have a schedule—all year, every year, and I need exactly three weeks preparation for a Blossom-level Christmas gathering."

Betty opens her mouth to retort, but Veronica beats her to it, gaze leveled but soft. "No, it's fine, I'll help you with your... thing. But Betty gets to help too," she finishes, smiling as she glances to a somewhat startled Betty.

"Fine," Cheryl deadpans, then she sweeps a look over their squad in an afterthought. "All of you are..."

A pause.

And Jughead sees the moment the blood drains from her face, porcelain skin becoming impossibly paler. Something inside her appears to shatter like glass, the iron stance she always carries around like a second skin peeling back to reveal a subtle vulnerability. Her hands start to shake, her lips tremble. Moisture fills her glazed eyes.

A hand darts out when she sways on her feet, Veronica's, a shot of worry trickling in their veins. Jughead finds Archie's gaze, intrigued, anxious, his own emotions reflected back at him.

"Cheryl? What's wrong?" Betty's voice.

Her lips part to respond, but all that follows is a creak of her vocal cords, hardly audible in the noise of the school.

"H-holy— _fuck,_ " hisses from the back of their posse, stealing all their attention but Cheryl's. It's Kevin, eyes wide like saucers and hand blindly reaching out for Betty's shoulder. But it's not his words so much as where he's looking that they take note of, following suit, eyes tracking across random students who have suddenly gone still, quiet, until they find the front doors that they'd just passed through moments before.

And the warmth washes from the room just like that, a wave of silence, a chill, gradually enveloping every single person in the hall as each of them notice the same thing at the same time. It hangs thick in the air, an ominous ring, piercing Jughead's ears.

 _By all rights, it should have been a normal day._

It's just a seventeen year-old boy.

 _Better than normal._

Standing by the entrance, bag slung over his shoulder, an easy if a little cocky smile tracing his mouth. He wears a familiar blue and yellow coat, just like a number of kids in the building.

Normal.

 _A good day for late November._

Except he has gray eyes and orange hair.

Except they all recognize him from before last summer—they all know his name.

Except _this_ seventeen year-old boy had been found in Sweetwater River with a bullet in his chest.

 _This_ seventeen year-old boy is _dead._

A shuddered breath leaves Cheryl's lungs, a wobbled step forward, and she says the same word that's screaming through all their minds at once.

" _...Jason._ "

And Jason Blossom turns, finds Jughead's eyes, and smiles wider.

000

 _I will never die_  
 _You can bury my body but I'll never die_

000

 **A/N: ~Dun dun duuuun~ This AU is shaky at best, but the core concepts I luckily have figured out and I hope I can put it to paper for you guys. XD Wish me luck, leave a review?**


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